


Beyond the Sunset

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Fourth Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2002-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of a long life, Master Samwise sails West to the Undying Lands to find his heart’s dearest treasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Haven

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

__

Shall I take my coracle across the wide, sparkling ocean? 

O King of the glorious heaven, shall I go of my own choice up on the sea?

Prayer of St. Brendan

******* 

The dawn sky was like pewter over the Tower Hills. As the Sun rose over the world, she set the long glittering line of the sea on fire.

In the cold freshness of the hour, Mayor Samwise bade farewell to his eldest daughter. 

He held Ellie for a long while. Her golden head lay against his breast as she pressed herself against him. Her husband Fastred stood nearby, his expression sober, with his arm around the tear-streaked Fíriel, Sam’s youngest granddaughter.

‘My little Elanorellë,’ Sam murmured against Elanor’s curls. ‘My firstborn, my sweet sun-star.’

She was still slender for a Shire-matron, despite the children she had borne, and her red-gold hair was not even touched with grey. And while her clear eyes glistened with unshed tears like pools under rain, they were full of trust and hope.

‘Namárië, dearest Sam-dad,’ she said tremulously. Then -- ‘ _Frodo,_ ’ for Frodo had been standing silent behind Sam all the while. Frodo took her hand. ‘I’ll take care of him, El,’ he said simply. ‘And I shall be back soon.’

As Sam and Frodo rode away, Sam looked back several times at the three figures standing by the Tower. Elanor held the Red Book against her breast and raised her right hand in farewell. As she did so, Fastred and Fíriel raised theirs.

__

Goodbye, my beautiful Ellie. May you tell our story to your children, and to your children’s children. Keep the tale alive for them. Never tire of telling it. 

***

Seven days later, Frodo and Sam rode into Mithlond. 

It was a long journey from the Shire to the Firth of Lune, and Frodo had taken care to take things at a slow pace, for it is hard for an old man to sleep without shelter under the night sky. There was an isolated inn in the Northfarthing where they took a room one night before heading for the open road again, which meant more camping beneath the stars. The Moon became fuller as they rode north and west. Each night as Sam lay asleep, warmly wrapped in furs and blankets, Frodo lit a fire and smoked a pipe and gazed at the Moon, silver Tilion, through the interlaced leaves of the autumn trees. He spoke aloud. ‘Will you look down on him in the Blessed Realm,’ he said softly to the Moon, to its broad silver face and its mountains. ‘Oh, may the light be with him.’

At last, on September 28th, after a harvest moon, the two hobbits reached the Grey Havens. Under the stone archway bordered by firs and pines they rode, and then they paused, reigning in their restless ponies on the paved road leading from the Gate into the ancient city of Mithlond. 

Frodo gazed around him in wonder. Sam sat silently on Bill the Fourth, drinking it all in …the splendours of the Havens he had seen so many years before. 

The majesty of Mithlond bore testament to its centuries of history. Under the turning seasons, under golden warrior suns, under the threatening clouds of war, Mithlond had endured. At the height of Lindon’s glory, the harbour had been full of ships as the Eldar built their hallowed craft for the voyage to Eressëa. On these shores Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor, had watched in vain for the mighty Númenórean armadas to approach the coastline and give him the hope of aid against Sauron he had requested, aid that never came. Into this very harbour the tattered remnants of Elendil’s broken fleet had limped, refugees from the catastrophe of Númenor. And here, sixty-one years earlier, the Ring-bearers had set sail for the Undying Lands, never to return.

The town and harbour seemed empty, and the waters by the side of the stone quay were empty too.

‘There isn’t a ship, Dad.’ Frodo’s voice was anxious, but also betrayed a tremor of hope. For if there was no ship waiting, his father was released from the promise. He could return home to Bag End with Frodo, back to his loving family, to his children and grandchildren who would care for him until the end of his days. 

And yet, for Sam’s sake, Frodo hoped, with a bittersweet pang, that the last ship had not sailed. For deep down he knew – they all knew – that their father had longed to leave Middle-earth ever since the death of their mother in June. So either Sam-dad would die quietly at home, pining away for his Rose, or achieve his dearest wish and sail away on the Sundering Seas to find the treasure his heart had always sought.

‘No,’ Sam murmured, scanning the shore. His brow furrowed. ‘No, son, there don’t seem to be no ship.’

‘What shall we do, Dad?’

‘Find the Shipwright,’ said Sam simply. ‘Here now, let me dismount from Bill the Fourth.’

Frodo dismounted his chestnut pony and carefully helped his father get down from piebald Bill. Sam patted the pony’s nose. ‘There’s a good and faithful Bill,’ he said fondly. ‘Like all Bills.’ Bill the Fourth whickered softly. 

Slowly they walked along the quayside, leading their ponies. Then Sam stiffened, and nudged Frodo. ‘Look, son,’ he said.

Standing at the end of the quay was a tall figure robed in grey. Stone steps led down to the water, where a small white coracle rode the waves, tethered to the quayside by a slender _hithlain_ rope.

Sam gave a small gasp and clutched his eldest son’s arm. ‘It’s him, Frodo-lad. It’s the Master of the Havens,’ he said rapidly, and Frodo heard the excitement quivering in his father’s voice, felt the sudden hope rise sharply in his Sam-dad.

As they approached the Shipwright, an awe fell on Frodo the like of which he had never felt before. He had met Elves before, at the King’s city beside Lake Evendim and again in Minas Tirith and the land of Gondor. But this Elf was far older than either Queen Arwen or Prince Legolas, his father had said, this Wise One was a mariner who had helped the Elves and Men of Middle-earth for untold ages. And here at the Grey Havens, Frodo realised with heartache, was the end of all things. That delicate white coracle bobbing innocently in the water heralded the end of his father’s life in Middle-earth, and the end of an era. For his father was the last of the Ring-bearers.

Círdan’s long white beard was lifted by the morning breeze. His eyes were deep and penetrating. ‘I have been waiting for you, Master Samwise.’

‘We sent a message a month ago,’ Frodo said unsteadily. He found it hard to look at the Elf.

‘And all has been made ready,’ said Círdan. ‘Your father and I will sail together.’

‘I’m just a foolish old hobbit, sir,’ said Sam, his voice quivering with barely suppressed emotion. ‘I never expected you Fair Folk to do nothing special for me. I only ever wished to see my master again.’

‘You need have no fear,’ said the Elf. ‘The way is foretold. This day has been a long time coming … for myself, and for you.’

‘Forgive me, Shipwright,’ Frodo interrupted, ‘but how can my father sail in that thing?’ 

He looked with dismay at the small white boat. 

‘Fear not,’ said Círdan. ‘The Lord Ulmo guards the pathway of the waters and we will have safe passage as we are guided home. Beyond the sunset lies our way and then our boat will fly to Elvenhome as it leaves the circles of the world. Your father will be safe. This journey has long been prepared.’ 

He came forward, and placed a reassuring hand upon Frodo’s sandy curls. The hobbit looked up, his hazel eyes full of doubt and sorrow. ‘Be comforted, Frodo,’ said Círdan gently. ‘Your father was fated to sail this day. All will be well. And you will not ride back alone.’ He gestured behind Frodo, who turned to see two Dúnedain of the North, dark-haired men clad in brown and green with long swords. ‘They will accompany you to the borders of the Shire,’ said Círdan. The two Rangers bowed to Sam and Frodo. ‘By the orders of the King,’ they said.

‘Thank you,’ said Frodo. ‘Thank you. My brothers will be waiting for me on the borders.’ He bowed in return.

‘The King Elessar knows of your journey,’ said Círdan gently, and his smile was infinitely kind. 

‘I thank you indeed, sir,’ said Sam. ‘My son wanted to come with me to the Havens, all the way to the end. I am grateful to you and our King for … thinking of him.’ His voice wavered and broke. Frodo put his arms about him. ‘Dad,’ he said. His voice shook.

Sam did not know how long he embraced his eldest son for. A moment, an hour, a day, a lifetime. The Elf and the Rangers bowed respectfully and walked off a little way, discreetly allowing the hobbits as much time as they needed.

As father and son clung tightly together, Frodo-lad’s voice was breathless and tearful as a boy’s. 

‘Oh Dad! I’m so glad for you, Dad. I hope he’s waiting for you.’ 

‘Don’t weep for me, Iorhael my son,’ said Sam. ‘I’m as happy now as I could ever be, right at the end of a good life. I leave you all with my blessing. Namárië, my secondborn. May the light of the Lady always shine upon you and yours.’ He kissed Frodo’s brow.

Then Círdan’s voice rose, clear and ringing. 

‘Nai tiruvantel ar varyauvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya! May the Valar keep you on the homeward road, Iorhael of the Shire. And may Yavanna bless your gardens.’

And the Shipwright walked down the stone steps and boarded the small coracle, and held out his hand to Sam. The two Rangers came forward and carefully helped the old hobbit down the steps into the boat, one holding his hand, the other supporting him from behind. When he was settled in, Sam looked up at Frodo standing on the quay. Frodo-lad’s eyes glittered with tears but the expression on his face was firm and resolute. Through his own tears, Sam managed a watery laugh. ‘Now mark this, Fro my lad,’ he called up. ‘All his life your daft old dad’s been afraid of boats. But in this little boat which seems as fragile as glass, as if the wind could blow it away, I have no fear at all.’

‘I have no fear for you, Dad.’

‘Settle yourself in, Master Samwise,’ said Círdan gently. ‘There are warm blankets to wrap yourself in, should you have need.’

‘Dad!’ Frodo exclaimed. ‘Look there!’

Sam looked above him, and circling above the coracle were seven swans. Círdan smiled. ‘Messengers from Elvenhome,’ he said. ‘They will fly with us on our journey.’

The Elf’s deep eyes were translucent with a joy that seemed to spring from the heavens.

‘Let us go home, Master Samwise. I have waited this glad day for a long time.’

‘The light of the Lady go with you, Dad,’ Frodo cried. ‘Always, always.’

One of the Rangers untied the rope and threw it to Círdan. And the small coracle, released, began to speed away from the harbour, faster and faster, so that Frodo watching with the two Rangers from the quayside saw it fly like a white bird along the straight line of the sea to the furthest horizon.

Until he saw it no more.

******* 

**Author Notes:**

Ulmo, Lord of Waters, is a Vala, one of the Powers, mentioned in _The Silmarillion_ by J.R.R. Tolkien

I borrowed the idea of the seven swans from that wonderful story ‘Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin’, _Unfinished Tales_ by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien, Copyright © George Allen  & Unwin (Publishers) Ltd 1980, HarperCollins.

__

Hithlain, mentioned in _The Fellowship of the Ring_ by J.R.R Tolkien (‘Farewell to Lórien’), is a slender grey rope of elven-make. It seems appropriate that the boat which bears Sam to the Blessed Realm of Aman should have a rope made of hithlain, since it was this rope which brought aid to Sam as he and his master struggled in the foothills of the Emyn Muil on their dreadful journey to Mordor.

The ship on which the Ring-bearers sailed in 1421 is said in _The Silmarillion_ to be the ‘last ship’ of the Noldor (the Deep-Elves, the High-Elves of the West). However, Tolkien never stipulates when exactly Círdan the Shipwright sailed. My idea of the coracle was inspired by the Celtic legend of St. Brendan (which in fact inspired Tolkien too, as he pays tribute to it in ‘The Notion Club Papers’, which are included in Volume 9 of The History of Middle-earth, _Sauron Defeated_ ).

‘Nai tiruvantel ar varyauvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya!’ was a line spoken by Elrond in the film screenplay of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ which didn’t make it into the cinematic version. It means, ‘May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.’

'Iorhael' is 'Frodo' in Elvish.


	2. Avalon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of a long life, Master Samwise sails West to the Undying Lands to find his hearts dearest treasure.

The cold night wind flowed over Sam’s face but he was warm in his blankets. The rocking motion of the coracle lulled him to sleep, and he fell in and out of dreams with the rising and falling of the waves. 

__

‘Here you go, Mr Bilbo, one sack of taters ‘… _his dad and Mr Bilbo were chatting and smoking in the Bag End kitchen while young Mr Frodo told a solemn-eyed little boy a wonderful story about a dragon who stole some treasure from the dwarves … ‘listen, Sam, this is the elvish word for "dragon"’ … young Mr Frodo’s voice was melodious and enthusiastic … the Gaffer was grumbling good-naturedly on his way home, ‘what’s all this fancy elvish talk now – that young nephew of Mr Bilbo’s, what outlandish tales has he been filling your head with, eh, Samwise?’ … ‘Mr Frodo! Have you ever seen Elves?’ … and Mr Frodo had hesitated, his blue eyes bright and merry, and leant forward conspiratorially, ‘well, yes, I have, Sam, and my uncle has too … but that’s a big secret between us, see,’ and small Sam had swelled with pride to think that the young heir of Bag End was confiding so in him, the gardener’s son …_

The images flashed and flickered on the edge of memory, and voices came clear out of the past.

__

A blackbird was singing outside the Bag End study window. 

Rosie was blushing and smiling on their wedding day with mallorn blooms scattered in her hair like golden peardrops. 

The children were clustered round him at bed-time, wide-eyed, clamouring for tales out of the Red Book. A baby – Primrose, or Daisy, or Ruby – was gurgling and kicking her chubby legs in a cot. Rosie-lass was perched on his knee, asking him plaintively if the Entwives would ever be found.

Banners were fluttering over the white spires and pinnacles of Minas Tirith. The King and Queen had been there to greet him and the family as they approached the Rammas Echor, the great outwall surrounding the city, and Legolas had been there, and Gimli, and King Éomer, and Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn … 

In the Hall of Feasts, Queen Arwen had gazed upon him as wine was poured and laughter rose and minstrels played in the gallery. She placed her long slender white hand upon his and Sam could not look away from her intense midnight gaze. 

‘You think of him often, do you not, Master Samwise?’ Her voice was soft and cool.

‘Yes, my lady,’ he said. ‘Yes, I do. Not a day goes by but I don’t think of him.’

‘I think of him too,’ said the Queen. ‘The sweet Ring-bearer who graciously accepted my gift.’ 

Dream and memory combined to wash over him in a sequence of glittering images, until he lost all sense of time and imagined he was being borne along on huge waves. He was borne aloft and perilously fragile on vast mountains of water; he was flying in the wind like an eagle; he was on a boat drifting to nowhere … _ah no, their boats were approaching the Argonath, the Anduin was rising in rapids, they would all be crushed against the rock and their elvish canoes would splinter and throw them all, Strider, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Mr Merry, Mr Pippin, Mr Frodo and himself into the raging river …_

Sam woke in a dreadful sweat and panic, only to find Círdan’s large smooth hand soothing his brow, and his deep calm voice saying, ‘Hush, Master Samwise. No nightmares.’

Above them the sky was black and dusted with a million icy stars. There was no whisper of wind now, no murmuring of water, only a great rush of air beneath the coracle racing through the night sky. The deep silence of Heaven was all around, and the vast and empty halls of Night. And the steady whirring beat of swans’ wings on the edge of sound.

‘Where are we?’ Sam whispered, not understanding. The Mariner sat still and straight in the prow of the boat.

‘We are above the circles of the Earth. We are taking the Straight Road towards the West. Take more rest.’ 

Sam felt the black blanket of sleep settle on him once more. 

__

It was a bright summer morning in the Shire and under the oak tree which grew on the Hill behind Bag End stood a boy. He was smiling in the sun, a dark-haired hobbit-lad with a fine-featured, sensitive face and eager, restless blue eyes. ‘Hullo, Sam,’ he said.

 

 

 

When Sam awoke again, it was to the sound of water, and he could taste salt on his lips, and hear sea-birds crying. The coracle was skimming over light waves. He blinked, for the morning sun burnt his eyes. 

He sat up, still huddled in blankets. All around were dozens of rocky islands clothed in pine trees, fringed by white beaches kissed by aquamarine waves. He glanced back eastward and there on the horizon was nothing except the vast expanse of the Sundering Sea. 

‘We are passing the Enchanted Isles, Master Samwise,’ said Círdan. ‘You will soon see the Lonely Isle.’

‘We’re nearly there?’ asked Sam falteringly. 

‘Yes,’ said the Mariner, and Sam heard the deep joy welling up in his voice. 

‘How long’ve I been asleep?’ 

‘A long time. Perhaps days. But Time matters not on the bridge between the Mortal Lands and the Blessed Realm.’ And the Mariner smiled.

As the coracle skimmed past the necklace of islands, Sam saw a much larger island appear on the western horizon. As the boat sped closer he could make out white beaches and green fields with blue hills in the distance. 

__

I have waited so long for this. To know what he saw from the ship, all those years ago. 

The feelings in Sam’s heart were impossible for him to put into words. So he gazed in wonder as the boat approached the shores of the Lonely Isle, and turned south-westward. And as it did so, a new wonder came into view … a mighty wall of mountains on the horizon stretching from north to south as far as the eye could see.

‘There lie the coasts of Valinor, Master Samwise,’ said Círdan quietly. ‘Behold the White Mountain. It is but a distant peak afar off, but you can see it clearly.’

Sam did not speak. 

__

I don’t wish to see no holy mountain. It is not that which I have come so far to see.

The seven swans suddenly wheeled in the sky and turned northwards, beating their wings towards the distant mountains.

 

 

As the coracle rounded a rocky headland, the white harbours of a shining city came into view. 

‘There is our home,’ said Círdan. ‘There is Avallónë.’ 

Sam gripped the side of the boat and stared, his heart pounding. He could see throngs of people along the harbourside. More tall Elves than he could count, and they were arrayed in shimmering robes of green and blue and gold and silver. It was like a dream, yet the brilliance of the noonday light, and the distant murmurs and shouts coming from the quayside, were all too real. The marble towers and colonnades of that city were snow-white … close up Sam could see that they were veined with rose and violet like the shades of the rainbow.

He blinked. Once, long ago, he would have been thrilled to see so many Elves in one place. Yet underneath his excitement and his yearning was a cold little knot of fear he did not understand.

__

I’m not ready to wake up yet. Oh my Rose, Elanor, Frodo-lad, Fíriel … I tried to remember you all in the night. How can I hold your memories in this bright place?

The coracle was now skimming gracefully across the glass-calm water of the harbour. As it slowed and approached a long quay, Sam could hear the ringing of trumpets and the chiming of bells.

On the quayside stood three tall figures: a dark-haired lord robed in sky-blue with a star on his brow, an old man clothed all in white, a lady arrayed in misty robes with a golden waterfall of hair flowing down her back. Sam knew who they were immediately: his keen hobbit-eyes, not dimmed by age, caught a flash of ruby, sapphire, rainbow-flashing adamant. Yes, the three Rings were here. But they were not what he sought, nor their bearers. His heart missed a beat, the cold fear became an icy dart of terror. _All this way, and he’s not –_

Ah! There!

There beside the three Keepers of the Rings stood a much smaller figure, dressed neatly in silver and white. Sam gasped, and felt his heart racing. The wind ruffled the other hobbit’s dark curls and stirred the flowing silken cloak draped around his shoulders and fastened at the throat with a leaf-shaped brooch. And yes! Frodo’s brilliant blue eyes were fixed on him, and even from that distance Sam could sense the energy and expectation in that neat, compact form. 

Gandalf it was who came forward to greet Círdan and his passenger as the Mariner threw the rope to him and Gandalf tied it fast to a post. And he and Elrond spoke words of welcome, but Sam could not hear them. The sound of bells and the joyful murmuring of elvish voices receded into the distance. 

He was aware only of Frodo, standing as tense as an arrow on the quay, eyes blazing into Sam like blue diamonds. As the old hobbit was raised to his feet by Círdan, who gently helped him out of the coracle and up the stone steps, he saw Frodo springing gracefully forward. And there was the kindly face of Gandalf, and the smile of the Lady Galadriel, just behind Frodo, but Sam’s mind was a blur and he barely registered their presence. He could feel nothing, hear nothing, all his attention was locked on Frodo’s pale eager face, that slender hand reaching out to him, those bright eyes locked on his … 

Círdan and the other Ring-bearers drew back in respectful courtesy as the two hobbits fell into a clutching embrace.

‘ _Sam_.’

The only sensation in the whole world was that of his face pressed into the silky weave of Frodo’s shoulder, the tickle of Frodo’s curls against his nose, the scent of Frodo’s neck, the fierce warm pressure of Frodo’s arms around him, the feel of those slender hands on his back, the heave of his chest against Frodo’s (were they both sobbing?), the rhythm of a double heartbeat, pounding louder than the gentle ripple of the waves.

‘Sam, Sam. Oh, Sam.’

‘So it’s you, my dear. It’s you at last.’

‘Oh, Sam, I told you. I told you that one day your time would come.’ And Frodo’s smile was radiant through a misty veil of tears. ‘Dearest, faithful Samwise.’ 

As Frodo buried his head in Sam’s shoulder, Sam was suddenly reminded of his farewell with Ellie. So many farewells he had endured … the Fellowship, his children, his long-ago mother, his Gaffer, the trust and love fading in his Rosie’s eyes as the sleep of death slowly stole over her serene features … that impossible farewell all those years ago, standing at the Haven, watching the light of Frodo’s star-glass vanish over the Sea …

__

But now you and me have come full circle, _Mr Frodo_ , Sam thought, closing his eyes and hugging Frodo hard as Frodo’s cheek rested against his. _And this time I ain’t never going to let you go._


	3. Setting Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of a long life, Master Samwise sails West to the Undying Lands to find his hearts dearest treasure.

All afternoon Sam had been asleep. He had trembled and wept in Frodo’s arms on the quayside, an old exhausted hobbit for whom the sun of the Undying Lands was too high and bright, who wanted only to shield his eyes from the glories around him. Gandalf had called softly for a bier to take Sam to a cool temple on the side of the harbour. There he had rested on a marble bench, with his head on Frodo’s shoulder as Frodo gently comforted him, and there had come an Elf Sam recognised from long ago – Glorfindel! – and glory be, but there were white horses pulling a carriage to take him and Frodo up the hill to a quiet house sheltered by poplars which had a view over the harbour. In that house he had been put to bed with soft words and comforting hands, tucked up like a child in a great white bed in an oak-panelled room, with cool linen sheets around him. ‘Drink this, Master Samwise,’ Glorfindel had advised, and a crystal cup was set to his lips, and the pale golden liquid splashing down his throat was _miruvor_! And by the Lady, it tasted even better than he remembered, more refreshing than mountain water, more intoxicating than wine.

His last memory before sleep took him had been of Frodo’s tender blue gaze. ‘Sleep, Sam. You are so very tired,’ and Sam, closing his eyes, felt the rose-like impress of Frodo’s lips on his forehead.

Then sleep had come, like a velvet blanket of oblivion.

When Sam awoke, it was early evening. Nobody else was with him but he heard soft voices in the adjoining room – Frodo’s he recognised, and cool silvery Elvish tones, and he felt comforted. A sweetly scented light was burning on a table next to his bed. Sam blew it out and the candle smoked in a long tapering trail, and the fragrance released became even sweeter and richer, filling the whole room. Sam did not recognise the scent. It must be some marvellous herb or flower peculiar to these lands. 

He washed and bathed, taking his time. He could take all the time he wanted, he supposed – he had, after all, traversed the bridge of time itself. He stared at himself in the tall mirror: an old hobbit with white hair and deep-set hazel eyes and an apple-wrinkled face, a face written with a thousand histories: the Shire, the Bag End garden, the quest, the dreadful journey to Mordor and years of hard work under the sun. He stared at his clothes, which were the comfortable attire of an elderly hobbit who had worked hard and earned his reward. Hesitantly he touched his velvet weskit. He could change into something fresh if he wished – clean breeches and tunic had been laid out for him – but his clothes seemed to show little sign of his long journey through the autumn stars on a strange ocean.

Master Samwise touched his reflection in the glass. Was it all a dream? Had he really come so far? 

Then there was a soft knock at the door, and Frodo had come into the room. He was dressed in green breeches and a white tunic embroidered with blue and gold, and a white jewel flashed on his breast. He smiled. ‘ _Sam,_ ’ he said, his voice warm and bright with affection.

Sam gazed at him. His master looked younger than Sam’s own Frodo-lad. 

__

I am old and he is young.

It was all too much like a dream. He would wake up soon.

The waters of the Avallónë harbour were rose-gold in the light of the setting sun. 

The sky was afire with dusky crimsons and burning golds, glowing over the Mountains of Valinor and turning the ocean between that distant dark coastline and Eressëa to molten gold. The rosy light pooled into the room where Sam was resting, watching the deft and efficient movements of Frodo and his two elvish companions as they laid a low marble table with glasses of wine and various plates of food.

The balcony opened onto a magnificent view of the harbour below. Rich scents floated in past the columns, and the evening air was fragrant. A pale blue bird was singing sweetly in a shrub close to the porch.

The crystal bowls were heaped with fruit, some of which were recognisable – apples, plums and pears, and also clementines (which Sam remembered from the orange groves in Gondor and Lebennin) – and some of which were not. 

One of the Elves was named Lindir: the other was an elvish lass whom Frodo called Finduilas, and she was as light and fragile as a birch-leaf, Sam thought, with pale gold hair crinkling on her shoulders. The unnerving turquoise brilliance of her eyes matched Frodo’s. She was not as tall as Lindir, although most elvish folk were very tall, taller even than Rangers.

Frodo sat with crossed legs on the polished floor, passing plate and glass to Sam and helping himself to fruit and exchanging soft laughter with Lindir and Finduilas. The three conversed constantly in the High-elven tongue.

Sam ate and drank slowly, savouring the rich food and the wine, hardly taking his eyes from Frodo. 

‘Will Mr Bilbo be joining us?’ he asked suddenly. 

The eyes of Finduilas flicked to Frodo, whose face had clouded.

‘Bilbo is no longer with us, Sam,’ he said gently. 

‘ _Oh,_ ’ said Sam, feeling a dull painful shock. He drew a shaky breath. ‘I thought it might be so,’ he muttered. ‘Time don’t wait for mortal folk even in this place, seemingly.’

‘No, Sam, I am afraid not. Even in the West Time passes. The Eldar may not halt it. They can only sail the stream which goes on forever. And us mortals … well, the stream takes us more easily than they.’

‘That must have been hard for you, Mr Frodo. Losing him.’ 

‘He passed away in great peace, Sam. It was not a very long time ago. It was then I knew you would not be long in coming.’ 

Frodo rose and went to Sam’s side and took his hand. ‘And here you are.’

He turned to Lindir and Finduilas. ‘He came at last,’ he said to them. ‘Samwise, the last of the Ring-bearers. My gardener, my faithful companion, my friend of friends.’

‘We are honoured to have your presence, Master Samwise,’ said Lindir. 

‘Be welcome to Elvenhome,’ said Finduilas and her voice was like a bell.

And the evening sun flooding through the window seemed to illuminate Frodo’s form as if a light was shining from within.

The Elves bade farewell to Frodo and were gone. Frodo helped Sam to bed. ‘This is strange,’ Sam chuckled faintly, as Frodo smoothed the bedcovers about him, ‘once upon a time this would have been me doing this for you.’

He stared up the ceiling.

‘I’m that tired,’ he remarked frankly.

‘I know, dear Sam. It’s a lot to take in all at once, isn’t it?’

‘Aye,’ said Sam. He looked up at Frodo. ‘Will you tell me? Will you tell me just how it was for you when you came here? I want to know everything.’

‘You shall hear it,’ said Frodo. He sat on the bed and took Sam’s hand in his. ‘I want to hear your story too. I want to know about all of them … about Elanor the Fair, and Frodo-lad, and the little one you called Goldilocks. You had three golden-haired daughters, Sam. I know that much.’ A faint smile played on his mouth.

Sam smiled in return, and patted Frodo’s hand. ‘How did you know all that anyway, Mr Frodo?’ 

Frodo laughed and shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. Some blessed measure of sight was given to me.’ His voice softened. ‘Which made the parting … easier, perhaps.’ His fingers played on Sam’s. ‘Don’t you think so?’

‘The parting was hard on both of us, Mr Frodo,’ said Sam quietly. ‘But I never doubted that you believed you took the right path.’

Frodo drew a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Sam.’ 

‘I feel a bit bad,’ remarked Sam, yawning, ‘not saying a proper hello to old Gandalf and the Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel.’

‘But it’s perfectly all right, Sam. There will be a great banquet tomorrow to celebrate the coming of Círdan and Samwise to Elvenhome. But everyone knew you would need to rest today. Tomorrow you shall meet them all.’ Frodo paused. ‘It’s a lot for a mere hobbit to gain … and a great deal for a mere hobbit to leave behind.’

He bent down and kissed Sam’s brow.

‘Good night, my Sam,’ he whispered.

Sam’s eyes drifted shut, and his voice was a drowsy sigh.

‘G’night, Frodo-lad.’


	4. Summerland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of a long life, Master Samwise sails West to the Undying Lands to find his hearts dearest treasure.

‘And it is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance else that is in this Earth; and many of the Children of Ilúvatar hearken still unsated to the voices of the Sea, and yet know not for what they listen.’ 

__

The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien

*******

The wind was fresh on Sam’s face and ruffled his curls. He was sitting in front of Lindir on a white elf-horse, cantering along the road. In front of them rode Glorfindel with Frodo on Asfaloth.

They were taking the coastal road from Avallónë to a small wooded peninsula on the western shore. It was a blue-and-gold morning and the dancing waves were tipped with snowy ruffles of foam. Bright clouds billowed in the sky.

Sam closed his eyes and felt the sun warm his skin. He glanced down at his hand, resting lightly in his lap, which was brown and sunburnt. He could swear the hand looked less wrinkled than the night before. 

‘We are here,’ Glorfindel said.

They had ridden through a coppice of elm and mallorn to a cove on the promontory. Sam spotted a grassy bank overlooking the cliffs … and lo and behold, there was a round green door cut into the hillside! A white paved path ran from the road up to the doorway. Climbing roses and vines twined over the porch. 

Sam gazed in wonder, as Lindir lifted him to Glorfindel and set him on the ground. Frodo was already standing on the pathway, gazing at Sam expectantly.

‘What do you think, Sam?’ he said. ‘A real smial. The first hobbit-hole ever built in the Undying Lands.’

‘Be welcome to your new home, Master Samwise,’ said Glorfindel. ‘We shall be back before nightfall, Frodo. The celebrations begin in Kortirion well before midnight.’ 

Frodo inclined his head. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Glorfindel.’

‘Expect us after sundown,’ said the Elf.

‘Farewell,’ Frodo called. He and Sam watched Lindir and Glorfindel ride away.

Frodo took Sam’s hand. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s a wonder and a marvel,’ said Sam. ‘That’s what it is. The Fair Folk must honour you greatly, Frodo.’

‘The Eldar built it especially for Bilbo and me.’ Frodo paused. ‘He is buried not far from here,’ he said quietly. ‘We can go and see his resting place this afternoon, if you wish. They laid him in a place which looks both east and west – east towards Middle-earth, west towards Valinor.’ 

‘I can see as how you can get both views from here too,’ said Sam. ‘You can just about spot the mountains on the horizon there, if you look hard enough.’

‘Yes,’ said Frodo simply. ‘I love the sea but it would make me sad to be always looking east. On clear days you can even see Mount Taniquetil. And the Lady Celebrían’s house is not far from here. I am so longing for you to meet her.’ He smiled. ‘Why, Sam! You are looking and sounding so much younger already.’

There were Elven tapestries on the wall of the smial. The rooms were light and spacious and decorated with many marvellous objects: gifts from the Fair Folk, obviously, delicate things made with care and delight. Sam looked around him with pleasure. ‘And books!’ he said. ‘Oh yes,’ said Frodo, ‘Bilbo did not write here, he said he’d done all his writing back in his old life in Middle-earth, but he read many many books. The Eldar keep much history on the island. And poetry.’

‘Ah,’ said Sam. ‘Old Mr Bilbo and his poetry.’

His eye fell suddenly on a bowl filled with delicate star-shaped golden blooms. His face changed, but Frodo did not see.

Sam took a step forward and lifted a bloom from the vase and laid it against his cheek. 

The dream-like feeling had not quite left him all morning, although the wind and the sea and the hobbit-hole had helped to restore some sense of reality. Now he felt a torrent of emotions rising in his breast, a flood of feeling impossible to unravel.

‘Elanor,’ he muttered. Then – ‘ _Elanor_ ,’ he repeated thickly, ‘oh … oh, my Elanor, Ellie, Elanorellë!’ His voice rose to a piercing wail and he buried his face in his hands. 

‘Sam –‘ Frodo’s arms enfolded him. The tears were blinding, like a summer storm. ‘Ellie -- my Ellie … on the other side of the Sea … forgive me, Frodo, but I – it’s too much, it just hit me …‘

‘I know,’ Frodo whispered, stroking Sam’s hair. ‘I know, I know.’

Sam wept in Frodo’s arms for a long time, his sturdy hands clenching and unclenching on the cloth of Frodo’s tunic, and Frodo let him weep, saying no words, but gently stroking Sam’s thick curls, which already showed blond threads among the white.

Eventually Sam drew back, his breath hitching. Frodo’s eyes were glittering with unshed tears. 

__

‘I know, Sam, _’_ he said. ‘I know.’

That afternoon, the two hobbits placed chairs outside their elegant smial, in a warm sun-spot where the light glowed on their skin, so they could gaze over the sparkling Sea.

Frodo had set a jug of _miruvo_ r on a small table, which was also laiden with white bread and cheese and cream and bowls of fruit and berries. He poured himself and Sam a glass each.

‘Food keeps a long time here,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Things never go in short supply. They couldn’t, in the realm of the Eldar. Ah, Sam! I love this little corner of the Lonely Islebecause it reminds me of the Shire.Well, apart from the Sea of course. That’s why Bilbo and me chose this corner for our house. Well, I chose it, really. Bilbo loved Avallónë and so do I. But I wanted to be by the Sea, and he loved looking towards Taniquetil, the blessed mountain.’

He turned to Sam with an inviting smile. ‘Now, Sam. Tell me everything.’

And Sam told Frodo everything which he could. About Merry’s marriage to the cheerful and capable Estella Bolger and their four delightful children, Théo, Éowyn, Éomer and Stella. About Pippin’s marriage to his North-took cousin Diamond, and their handsome fair-haired Faramir, heir to the Thainship, who had inherited his father’s high spirits and his mother’s gentleness and married Sam’s Goldilocks and was as fine a son-in-law as one could wish for. There were also the twins, born late to Pippin and his wife: Arwen and Arabella. And Master Samwise told of Elanor the Fair and how she had been a maid of honour to Queen Arwen when the King and Queen had stayed in Annúminas by the shores of Lake Evendim in the summer of 1436. About Elanor’s marriage to Fastred. About how Frodo-lad had been the spitting image of his father, and how he was yet so different from the Frodo he was named for. ‘I don’t mind telling you,’ said Sam frankly, ‘that it gave me a pang at first to call him by that name. I wish you’d known him. Me and Rose conceived him during the snows of 1422.’ 

Sam’s measured talk flowed on into the afternoon. He held Frodo’s hand, and Frodo listened to it all without a word, drinking everything in.

So much to tell. Of the visit to Gondor in 1442, during Elanor’s twenty-first year, and how he had met the Lord Faramir again. So much … Sam could not tell it all. Such a long and rich life.

The afternoon sun fell lower in the sky and the shadows lengthened around the smial. 

‘Thank you Sam,’ Frodo said at last. ‘I have not allowed myself to think of these things for – well, ever since I came here. I could not. All my past life receded from me like a dream. It was better so. It would have been too hard to remember.’ 

Sam looked at him anxiously. ‘But you have been _happy_ here, haven’t you?’ he asked, his voice catching a little. ‘Frodo, if I thought you weren’t –‘

‘ _Happy_ …’ Frodo’s voice came out like a sigh. ‘Happy,’ he repeated, ‘happy’s a thin sort of word for my life here. Sam, when I arrived I was like a ghost. All those terrible memories, those wounds in my soul … as soon as I came ashore I felt the dark edges of their power.’ He lifted his clear, bright eyes to Sam. ‘But I was healed of them, and the healing was like being burned with white fire. It seared my soul in a way I can’t describe to you. And afterwards I felt totally cleansed. Washed through, like rain.’ He paused. ‘I had to become myself again, in a way. And I got my strength back, and the air made me younger. I have seen glories I could never have imagined, Sam. I’ve seen the Elven-light streaming through the Calacirya. I’ve sung with the Elves in the halls of Kortirion and hailed the dawn over the Pelóri. There’s time enough to tell of all that. _Happy_ …’ 

‘Well now, there’s a funny sort of answer to a straight-asking question,’ said Sam with a wry smile. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say you’d turned into one of the elven-folk yourself. But there’s still enough hobbit in you, ain’t there, Frodo dear?’

‘I’m still myself, Sam. I’m still me.’

‘Aye, and I know my Frodo of old. There’s always a lot going on deep down inside of you but it’s rare for you to speak it out loud and wear it on your sleeve as you might say.’ Sam paused. ‘So it _was_ hard for you at first. You can’t hide that from me.’

‘Oh, Sam. Those first few weeks were indeed hard. It’s so beautiful here, and the Elves were so kind and I had Bilbo to look after too, which helped. And this place did heal my heart – all those wounds inside my mind and heart were eventually healed and cleansed, the dark memories and those awful torn feelings inside, they were all cured, by the grace of Elbereth. But oh, I missed you all so much. You, and – and Merry, and Pippin …’ Frodo’s voice caught …‘I kept on wondering what Elanor would be like when she grew up, knowing that I would never see it. I had to let go of everyone. Everyone except you. Yes, Sam, it was hard.’ Frodo gazed at Sam. ‘I had to let go of all the things which hadn’t happened too,’ he said softly. ‘One of the hardest things was realising that my life had hardly begun, really, before the Ring came into it **. I** had so much to enjoy and to be and to do … but it never came to pass.’

Sam shook his head, and pressed Frodo’s hand. 

‘I was comforted a great deal by Elrond. I knew he was carrying his grief for Arwen …he was a help to me. Who knows, maybe I was even a help to him.’

‘My poor Frodo,’ Sam murmured. ‘You must have wept long when Mr Bilbo passed on.’ 

‘Oh yes. Yes, I did.’ 

‘And nobody here to comfort you, me dear.’ 

‘Oh, but there were. You mustn’t think people just left me to grieve on my own.’ 

‘Nobody of our own kind, Mr Frodo. That’s what I meant.’

‘I learned to live with that a long time ago.’ Frodo gazed out to Sea. ‘I have no regrets, Sam,’ he said quietly. ‘I chose my path, and it was the right one. And I couldn’t stay in Middle-earth. I didn’t even want to. Remember what Saruman said to me? That last vicious parting shot of his? He said I would have neither health nor a long life. Well, he was wrong, because I had a way out of Middle-earth. He didn’t know about Arwen’s generous offer. But he was also right … if I had stayed, I wouldn’t have lasted long. And besides, once a person has the sea-longing in their heart, whether they be Elf or Hobbit … well, it never leaves them. It didn’t leave me. I longed for the Sea, Sam. I began longing for it in Rivendell.’

‘I know that longing too,’ said Sam slowly. ‘I had the sound of the sea in my heart for sixty years.’

Frodo looked up, startled.

‘No, no, don’t take it amiss … it weren’t constant. I weren’t pining to rush off and leave my Rose and the children! It _was_ right hard at first, Frodo, I missed you sorely that first autumn –‘ he looked Frodo full in the face, and Frodo winced – ‘but I took your words to heart, _you have so much to enjoy and to be and to do_ , and my sweet Rose and our baby Elanor gave me all I could wish to live for.’

‘I so much wanted to give you that hope, Sam.’

Sam smiled. ‘You did.’

‘How long do we have?’ Sam asked presently.

‘I don’t know, Sam. Not that long, I think.’ Frodo paused. ‘I may look hale and young but inside I can feel time … well, I’m all too aware of how it’s slipping away. And concerning tonight’s banquet in Kortirion, the city is quite a long way inland, so it might be the last time I ever go there. I am still quite strong but I am … now more like a candle flame which is burning down. I’m sorry. I wish I could give you more.’

‘Well, Mr Frodo, it’s like this. I’ve seen a lot of things in my long life. A lot of terrible things but mostly a lot of fair and lovely things. I’ve been given a whole more than any humble hobbit has any right to expect. I ain’t going to fret myself about how much time has been given to us in the Blessed Realm. As much as I respect the Fair Folk, it’s you I came for. And you know it.’ He paused. ‘If you and me don’t have much time left, then it’s all the more precious.’

‘Bless you, Sam. I was healed a long time ago. I have only been waiting for you.’ Frodo pressed Sam’s hand. ‘My heart was empty for so long, but now it has been filled.’

****

Epilogue

The seasons turn but slowly on Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, east of Valinor, the realm of the Powers. Mild springs melt into deep golden summers and during autumn the leaves never fall and the winds are kind. 

Samwise remembers his Rose, and his Elanor, and there is peace in his heart. Sometimes he and Frodo visit the Lady Celebrían in her house by the sea, and the Lady Galadriel is often there, and together they honour the memory of the Evenstar in her white city, now separated from them forever by the Sundering Sea. Silently Sam remembers his loved ones left in Middle-earth, the Mortal Lands, and offers quiet petitions in his heart.

It is enough for Sam, having tended gardens all his life, to sit in their green garden in the sunshine and delight in the scents wafted on the summer winds, content now not to toil but listen to Frodo singing softly or reading aloud. The two hobbits also love to sit on the small stone wall and gaze towards the coast of Valinor. All kinds of herbs grow in the garden and Frodo teaches Sam the elvish words for the trees of the island. Sam rolls them on his tongue … _nessamelda_ , _yavannamírë, taniquelassë,_ _lairelossë._

Often Frodo and Sam go walking on the smooth white beach below their little smial. The ocean’s endless music enters their souls and comforts them. As Frodo listens to those eternal, changeful, unchanging waters, he thinks of all he has lost, of all he has gained. He remembers his long-dead parents, and dear Bilbo, who was like a father to him. Who knows where those sweet spirits have gone? … into hallowed mysteries of which the Elves know nothing. His beloved friends in Middle-earth were lost to him because he had to go where they could not follow. Yet the one thing remaining is Sam’s love. The promise held true, and the ocean did not keep Sam from him. As Frodo listens to the Sea by day and contemplates the stars of Elbereth by night, he feels no fear as he thinks of what might lie beyond Elvenhome. He has learned the tranquillity of time from the Elves. Not even the Eldar know all things. Yet they accept their place in the world. Now he has accepted his. Whenever he remembers all those he loved and lost, he hears the song of the Sea.

Sometimes Frodo lies asleep on Sam’s breast while Sam watches over him. Sam can’t count the times he has seen Frodo sleeping. Long ago, on summer mornings in Bag End, he would draw back the curtains and see his master’s dark head on the pillow, and an open book lying next to the candle-stump on the bedside table, evidence of Mr Frodo’s late-night reading. A cheerful drowsy voice would greet him and he would say, ‘morning, Mr Frodo.’ He kept vigil at Rivendell while Frodo slept after the morgul-stabbing. And on hard bitter nights in the Black Land he cradled Frodo in his arms. 

__

When I cradled your poor broken body in Cirith Ungol, that was like endless happiness, even in that dark and dreadful place. And now all those dark webs have tattered like rags in the wind, beyond recall, never to return. This is endless happiness. Now we are truly at peace.

As Sam watches Frodo sleeping he is reminded of his own Frodo-lad, or indeed any of his children lying small and vulnerable. Sam has comforted sleepless sons and daughters countless times – ‘Daddy, there’s an orc outside the door –‘ ‘Nay, lovey, ‘tis only a bad dream. Hush now.’ And he would lift the troubled small one into his lap and sing them a song or tell them a funny story, until they were dozing against his shoulder.

Now they look about the same age, the young master of Bag End and his gardener from so long ago. The bloom of health lies on Sam’s tanned arms, and his body is compact and sturdy. His right arm encircles Frodo, whose face is softly flushed and serene, whose lips are curved in a slight smile, whose dark curls are untouched by any frost.

__

You and I have come such a long way, Frodo, Sam thinks.

__

Together.

****

The End

Bilbo's Last Song  
by J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
Text copyright © 1974 by M. Joy Hill  
  
Day is ended, dim my eyes,  
but journey long before me lies.  
Farewell friends! I hear the call.  
The ship's beside the stony wall.  
Foam is white and waves are grey;  
beyond the sunset leads my way.  
Foam is salt, the wind is free;  
I hear the rising of the Sea.  
  
Farewell friends! The sails are set,  
the wind is east, the moorings fret.  
Shadows long before me lie,  
beneath the ever-bending sky,  
but islands lie behind the Sun  
that I shall raise ere all is done;  
lands there are to West of West,  
where night is quiet and sleep is rest.  
  
Guided by the Lonely Star,  
beyond the utmost harbour-bar,  
I'll find the havens fair and free,  
and beaches of the Starlit Sea.  
Ship my ship! I seek the West,  
and fields and mountains ever blest.  
Farewell to Middle-earth at last,  
I see the Star above your mast!


End file.
